


Puke Baby

by MothMortician



Category: Human Target (TV 2010)
Genre: Drunkenness, Implied Slash, M/M, hinted relationship, vomitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2017-03-12
Packaged: 2018-10-03 06:59:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10238498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MothMortician/pseuds/MothMortician
Summary: Guerrero and Chance have an oddly tender moment while Chance spews his guts out.





	

Chance didn't usually spend the night at the HQ, but after a few drinks at his favorite bar, he was too drunk to flag a cab or take the bus back to his place, so he walked back to his place of employment, stumbling through an alley, stopping to dry heave, almost getting hit by a car, and stopping again to pet a peach colored cat he found lounging on a dumpster.

After taking the elevator up, and giving Carmine a few scratches behind his ears, he was about to crash on one of the ritzy couches Ilsa insisted they need, but stops dead in his tracks. Placing a hand over his stomach, and slouching forward, he felt a pain shoot through his stomach, like a long, thin wire had pierced him in his abdomen. The wire coiled in his stomach, and started to slither it’s way up his stomach like a snake.

“Oh. . . Fuck.” 

It took him awhile, shuffling, bumping into furniture, but he made his way to the bathroom with Carmine following him every step of the way. After flipping the light switch on and a few failed attempts to get the toilet seat up, he knees down onto his knees and hunches over the porcelain. He wasn’t puking yet, but he could feel it, making residency at the bottom of his throat. Carmine licked the back of his head, trying to comfort him as best he could and it wasn’t that Chance didn’t appreciate it, it just wasn’t doing anything for his slowly worsening headache. He was about to tell the dog to stop, but he didn’t have to, since Carmine’s head snapped towards the bathroom door and he ran out.

Chance was too preoccupied in trying to puke out all of the contents in his stomach, knowing that he would feel so much better once he did. Along with Carmine’s paw pitter-pattering paws on the hardwood floor, Chance could hear someone else approaching the bathroom. Had someone followed him here? It couldn’t have been a client, so it had to be someone coming to kill him. Well, if it was, now was the perfect time to strike. He gripped the rim of the bowl with his hands, and tried to stand, but couldn’t. Well, he guessed this was how he was going to die, head halfway in a toilet. Not the most dignified way to go out, but when or if Guerrero and/or Winston found his dead brain floating in toilet water, he hopes that they write something nice in his obituary. ‘Goodbye, everyone,’ Chance solemnly thought to himself as he waits to be shot, stabbed, strangled or all three.

“Chance?” A very familiar voice calls out to Chance from the bathroom entrance. Chance chuckles to himself, tickled a bit at his own dramatics. “H-Hey. . . Guerrero.”

Guerrero walks over, and sits next to Chance, crossing his legs and placing the backpack he was carrying with him in his lap.

“What are ya’ doin’ here, man?” Chance questions while trying to better position himself over the water. Guerrero doesn’t answer, just opens his pack to reveal that it was filled with food. “Of course,” Chance smiles and coughs a bit, hoping that the action would bring the bile up and end his suffering, but to no such avail. “Well, the fridge here is stocked for a reason.”

“That is—Ugh—Very true.” Chance’s legs are starting to fall asleep, but he didn’t want to move. Guerrero places his hand on Chance’s lower back and for some reason, the slight pressure there felt good. “What are you doing here?” Guerrero throws Chance’s question back at him. Chance makes an ‘Are you serious’ face at him. “Wha’ does it look like I’m doin’?”

Guerrero looks him over for a bit before emitting a small gasp. “Oh, my god. Oh, my god, dude, I know what’s happening.” Chance, with his alcohol soaked brain, starts to imitate Guerrero’s worry. “What? What is it?” He anxiously waits for an answer. 

“You’re pregnant.” Guerrero claims with a straight face.

Chance weakly swats him on the shoulder.

“Asshole!” Chance starts to laugh, making his stomach hurt, but he can’t stop himself. Guerrero starts to laugh with him. “Oh, I’m an asshole, huh? Well, you told me that you were on the pill, so what does that make you?” He teases while putting his backpack beside him, and crawling over to Chance on his hands and knees. Chance is still giggling, so Guerrero replies to his own question. “A liar, that’s what.”

“Look what ya did t’ me! I’m not ready for a baby!” Chance keeps to the joke. He was wobbling a bit on his knees now, legs still mostly asleep, but he barely noticed now. “We could always abort it.” Guerrero offers. Chance’s glee dies down a bit. “Yeah. . . We could a--” He stops and his face twists in pain.

“Dude?” Guerrero now has his hands floating over Chance’s back, just in case he falls over. “Dude, you okay?”

“We could--” Then, Chance’s back arches up and brown water with chunks pours out of his mouth. “Gross.” Guerrero says, then begins to rub at Chance’s back. After a few minutes and Chance’s crying a bit about his stomach hurting, but his headache had surprisingly vanished after that, Chance was done hurling. “Feel better?”

“So much better!” Chance exclaims happily. He’s still drunk, but he isn’t dizzy anymore and the wire in his stomach must have spilled out with all the other bad stuff in him. They both look into the latrine, and scowl at how disgusting and fowl smelling the contents in the bowl is. 

“A clean abortion, doc.” Chance starts to crow halfheartedly. “Yep, it would appear so, dude. . .” Guerrero reaches up, and flushes the toilet. They both watch the dirty water swirl away. “Bye-bye, baby.” Chance waves the water away as Guerrero helps him to his feet. “I wasn’t ready, but do you think tha’ I woulda been a good mama?”

“Yeah, dude, the best mama.”

“Really?”

“Of course.”

With half-lidded eyes, and a huge smile on his face, Chance whispers out, “I’m glad. You would have been a great daddy.”

Guerrero grins back at him.

“Thanks, dude.”

Guerrero helps him up the stairs, into the bed and onto his stomach. He was pretty sure that Chance wouldn’t vomit again in his sleep, but you could never be too careful.

“I think I’m starting to regret it.”

“Regret what?”

“The abortion. Maybe we shoulda kept it.”

Guerrero shrugs.

“Well, it’s too late now, don’t you think?”

“Yeah. . .”

Guerrero leans over him and squeezes his shoulder to get his attention. 

“Besides, we already have a kid and he’s more than enough.” Guerrero pats Carmine on his head as the dog hops into bed and fits himself next to Chance. Chance gasps and wraps one arm around the Rottweiler, holding him tight.

“Oh, yes he is! The best baby ever!” Chance gives Carmine a kiss on the top of his head, which Carmine reciprocates with a lick on Chance’s nose. The scene was cute, but Guerrero needed to get going. “I’m gonna head out.” He announces, but Chance didn’t answer. 

“Chance?” Chance’s head was buried in the pillow under him. He wasn’t in danger of choking on his own filth, but Guerrero was sure he wasn’t going to be smothered by the pillow either.

“Watch after him while I’m gone, okay?” Guerrero asks Carmine, which Carmine responds with a soft puff of air out through his nose. Guerrero didn’t leave immediately, not before ruffling Chance’s hair and watching him for a little longer. Then, after pulling himself away from the bed, he grabs his backpack from the bathroom, turns off the bathroom light and left into the elevator. Hopefully, Chance wouldn’t have too bad of a hangover in the morning.


End file.
